


Overwhelmed

by HoneyBeeez



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Almost First Kiss, Insecurities, Internet Friends, M/M, NOT IN THE NSFW WAY THOUGH, Sensory Overload, Tumblr!AU, also theres some mental stuff going on that i really dont have names for, i tried explaining why kentarou is so grumpy i hope i succeeded
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-23 15:29:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7469037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoneyBeeez/pseuds/HoneyBeeez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The internet isn’t a really good substitute for friends, but what can he say? He likes screens and people presumably thousands of miles away better than people yammering in his ears. </p>
<p>~Or: The Tumblr/Internet Friends AU I'm trashy enough to write!~</p>
            </blockquote>





	Overwhelmed

It’s not that Kentarou is necessarily _bad_ with people, it’s just that he really can’t stand being around a whole ton of them all at once. One or two people? Maybe, he can deal with that. But four, five? A whole team? A whole _class_? It drives him nuts. There’s always too much noise, with so many voices blurring together and too many faces to know and too many people to think of you differently.

That’s why Kentarou is considered a loner. He just likes being on his own rather than being surrounded by people. He’s okay with it, really. Most of the time, he has his phone, his headphones, and a random book stashed away in his bag, so it isn’t like he sits there, bored.

The internet isn’t a really good substitute for friends, but what can he say? He likes screens and people presumably thousands of miles away better than people yammering in his ears. At least his friends on the internet don’t judge him by his looks, or think he’s weird, or think that he’s some gruff angry person that would fly off the handle at any second. They’re always supportive, always there, always willing to listen and get his mind off things, and Kentarou is always ready to do the same.

He thought he was good, that he had enough internet friends to keep him grounded, enough music to help him ignore others, enough blogs to follow to keep him entertained. But that’s until a random blog named “ya-setter-boi” starts following his Tumblr.

The notification lights his screen in the middle of the break his class was having. He blinks at it, once, twice, before clicking on the cheesy volleyball-with-a-happy-face icon.

“my blog is literally nothing but message me if you need to!” is what the blog description says, and Kentarou can’t deny that the brevity is interesting.

A few scrolls through the blog has him hitting the “Follow” button in the corner. From what he sees, the blog is about random shit and whatever happens to catch the person’s interest, but it also has one of Kentarou’s favorite shows. It’s too old and obscure to have much new content circulating around anywhere, but this blog has it.

Does he feel kind of creepy, following back in less than thirty minutes? Yes. He should have waited. But it’s worth it, especially now since he has more content to add to his blog.

It’s not that big a deal, not really, but Kentarou can’t help but feel a little excited. He has a new mutual, after all. Not that that implies anything, it was just that… well, he can’t explain it.

“ya-setter-boi” is really excitable for someone with a stupid username. Everything they reblog had some stupid ass tag to it that makes Kentarou laugh. Either it’s a character with a really specific tag and at least two exclamation points, or the all-caps rants that went on longer than the original post itself. He can’t help but press the like button because of the tags alone. He thinks he should be embarrassed after the first time he realizes that he went through their blog and practically spammed the like button, but it isn’t like he regrets it, so he lets it go.

Everything changes when he stumbles upon a post he probably shouldn’t have.

It’s late, and Kentarou is tired, but he is too stubborn to go to sleep just yet. He refreshes his dashboard, only to see a post form ya-setter-boi that reads “ _im not enough_ ” with nothing in the tags.

Kentarou’s eyes goes wide as his whole body becomes gripped with worry. It’s uncharacteristic and strange in every sense of the words, and it has Kentarou scrambling. He clicks on the stupidly happily volleyball icon and shoots them an ask before he can second guess himself. He doesn’t even remember what it says, exactly, but it’s along the lines of “ _hey are you okay?_ ”

Within a couple minutes, the post is deleted and there’s a reply waiting for him.

ya-setter-boi brushes it off like it’s nothing, saying serious things like “ _stress attack_ ” and “ _overwhelmed_ ” before immediately following up with “ _don’t worry about it im fine! thanks for asking though!_ ”

It pisses Kentarou off, but not in a bad way. Not in the way that everyone would think he would get pissed. It’s stupid, and weird, and something that Kentarou can’t really grasp himself, but it’s like he and the other blogger have been friends for forever. He has no right to feel like he’s obligated to make the other feel better, or feel like he needs to comfort them somehow, but he ends up shooting another ask anyways. It’s something like “ _okay that’s bullshit but im here to talk if you need to_ ,” but nicer and a lot more polite. It _is_ their first time talking, anyways.

His only reply a “ _thanks!!_ ” a couple minutes later, and it’s only after he gets confirmation that Kentarou lets himself sleep.

* * *

Two days later, Kentarou’s phone starts buzzing next to him as he tries to go to sleep. He groans, running a hand over his face before grabbing for his phone.

In the next second, he’s wide awake, because the message is from ya-setter-boi.

“ _hi sorry youre probably busy but you said that i could talk to you if i needed to and im kind of freaking out again_ ”

It’s like someone’s hollowed out his stomach, like someone ripped out his heart and held it in front of his eyes. _Horrifying. Painful._ He types back so fast that his words blur together, and he has to take a couple seconds before he presses send to correct everything so it can at least be coherent.

They text for at least an hour. Kentarou learns that he (yes, _he_ ) has a lot going on and so many things to do that it freaks him out sometimes. (He doesn’t elaborate on what, which concerns Kentarou only slightly, but he’s just glad he’s confiding in him instead of no one at all.) Kentarou tells him that it’s okay, and that he’s not shouldering it all alone, and that it may seem like a lot but he has to be patient and everything will work out in the end. He hopes it helps, and obviously it does, because the conversation shifts from comforting to random weirdness that both of them don’t seem to mind.

Kentarou ends up crashing at some time around one in the morning, after ya-setter-boi bids him good night.

He doesn’t regret it, even if he ends up nodding off in class the next day.

Somehow, talking to him becomes second nature. It’s a message here or there in the middle of break about something stupid he heard someone say, or it’s a message from him talking about how weird it would be if ducks could talk but still keep their “quack” voices, but it’s enough.

Kentarou learns a lot, like how they’re the same age and live in Japan and, of course, like the same TV shows. It’s weird, because all his other internet friends are eons away; it’s almost like a comfort to know that he at least has someone in the same country.

He’s happily on his phone when Iwaizumi and Oikawa find their way into his classroom at lunch. They trap him, one at either side of his desk, as they announce that they want to talk to him. He glares at Oikawa, but decides to go with them, well, _Iwaizumi_ , anyways. But not before sending off a message that he’ll be back soon.

They take him down the hall, and Iwaizumi buys him his pick from the vending machine while Oikawa whines about how “Iwa-chan never buys me anything!”

They talk about probably the only thing all three of them have in common: _volleyball_.

If he has to admit it, Kentarou would say volleyball is the best thing that happened to him. After his dad brought him to a game when he was a kid, he was hooked. He loved the sport, put everything into it, tried his best, and he thought he was at least pretty good.

That was until he got on his school’s team in middle school. That was when he was first noticing his issue with crowds, with _people_ , so he didn’t understand why he got so angry near the end of practice or why all he wanted to do was finish and leave. He played well, by any standards, but everyone hated him.

He thought high school would be different, and he _tried_ to change. He bottled it up, made sure to keep his mouth shut, and made himself stick around even if it was killing him. He missed the sound of volleyballs being hit, being tossed, being smashed into the ground, but he hated it when voices were added to the mix.

So, irritation turned to downright anger, and when a third year tried their best to correct his form, he blew up. He didn’t mean to, nor did he mean half the things that came out of his mouth, it just _happened_. And after, he was too ashamed to stay, so he stormed out without a word.

After a while, he just stopped going in general.

But now, Iwaizumi and Oikawa are telling him to come back. Oikawa says he needs to mesh with the team, that he’ll be needed when they leave the coming year. Iwaizumi says that he’s the only one that can be the ace, that he can bring the team to victory if he came back, if he tries hard enough. Kentarou agrees, only because the thought of actually playing again has been plaguing him since he left that gym last year.

He comes back after they lose the first tournament, when most third years leave the team. But they didn’t.

He isn’t expecting a warm welcome, or to be let on the team so easily. He’s expecting more open opposition, like Yahaba, who yells at him the second he sees him. He brushes him aside, not caring, and waits for someone else to yell. But they never do. Instead, it’s like everyone else is… almost happy that he’s there. All except Yahaba, but he never liked him all that much anyways, and why should he care about him?

He’s here for volleyball, not some setter asshole that glares daggers at him the moment he sees him.

It’s still hard, _dangerously_ hard, to stay in practice and do what he was supposed to, though. He’s always on edge, flinching away from any sudden movement and trying his best not to blow up at anyone. He _will_ be better, he has to.

When practice is called, Kentarou hightails it out of there. He can’t stay there longer, can’t be near people for more time than he has already. He has a headache and he feels drained. All he wants to do is find somewhere quiet and devoid of people and think for a while.

When he gets home, he eats whatever his dad made without a word. His dad just looks at him concernedly, and when he can’t take his dad practically radiating _worry_ anymore, he tells him about rejoining the team in as little words as possible. His dad just nods, and doesn’t say anything for the meal, except to say good night to him afterwards.

He’s thankful that his dad understands, at least.

He pulls out his phone and messages ya-setter-boi as soon as he can, and instantly gets about three “ _are you okay_ ” messages back, because “ _you never text first whats wrong are you okay._ ” It’s comfortable, and Kentarou thinks talking about it will be better than keeping it in, so he spills everything onto his phone screen.

He talks about rejoining the team but not liking to be around people, he talks about how it makes him go crazy, he talks about how other people’s voices grate on his mind. He’s overwhelmed, and Kentarou confesses that it’s why he was able to help him when he needed it, too. By the time he thinks he said everything that was weighing down on him, his screen is blurry behind the tears in his eyes.

ya-setter-boi is sympathetic, and tries his best to cheer him up. He tells him that he’s strong for getting through it, and brave for doing what he wanted even though it was hard. Kentarou breathes easy after that, and the two of them change the subject before the conversation dies out.

Volleyball seems to be yet another thing that they have in common. They talk for a while, and Kentarou learns that ya-setter-boi is actually, well, _a setter_. He should have asked about volleyball when they first started talking, but it’s much better now. Especially after he finds out Kentarou is a wing spiker, because then it’s all talk about meeting up one day and about how they would “ _practice until we puke!_ ” It’s light, and nice, and it makes Kentarou smile before he falls asleep with his phone screen pressed under his cheek.

* * *

He’s late the next morning, narrowly missing his train and barely slipping into his classroom before the bell rings. He sits down and feels his heart thrumming under his skin, before he pulls out his phone, shoots ya-setter-boi a reply to his “ _good morning!_ ” and gets started on the notes they’re taking.

Nothing feels out of the ordinary; there’s the same chatter, the same droning of the teacher’s voice, the same scratching of pencils on paper all around him. He fiddles with something, _anything_ , to keep his mind off it all. His fingers drum on his desk and his pencil spins in between his fingers to pass the time.

When lunch rolls around, he bolts up out of his desk and into the hallway. He heads for the vending machine down the hall, phone in hand as he messages ya-setter-boi.

That is, until something solid hits his shoulder and makes him stumble.

“What the fuck? Watch where you’re goin’!” Kentarou immediately spits, even as he raises his eyes and sees the person that bumped into is Yahaba. He doesn’t take the words back, and Yahaba doesn’t look an ounce apologetic.

“Right back at’cha, _Mad Dog_ ,” he sneers, and Kentarou growls at the stupid nickname. Yahaba smiles at him sickeningly sweet, the way Oikawa does when he doesn’t mean it or when he’s forcing himself, before walking away. Kentarou watches him look back down at his phone as he goes, before huffing.

Fuck him.

He gets what he wants from the vending machine, as well as five messages from ya-setter-boi as he rants about people being rude, and how some people have no manners, and how “ _you still have to tolerate them and its even worse because you have to act like they don’t get on your nerves ALL THE TIME._ ”

Kentarou thinks back to Yahaba, the stupid-ass nickname, and his fucking fake smile, and has to agree.

It only gets worse at practice, because Oikawa calls Yahaba over and practically forces them to practice together. The two of them stare at each other, unwilling to even _try_ , but Oikawa slaps both of them on the shoulder, teases them sweetly about how they would “make a good team, I’m sure of it! And I’m never wrong!” and that if Kentarou didn’t agree, it was “like Mad Dog-chan is admitting that he wants only my tosses!”

So, they practice, scowls set on both their faces and tension stifling anyone remotely close.

Yahaba’s sets aren’t perfect, but they definitely aren’t as unhittable as Kentarou spits that they are. Honestly, the guy just gets on his nerves, and if he’s hostile, maybe he’ll give up. But he never does. He shoots insults back, telling him that he’s jumping too early or too high, and that if he “had any real control, you would be able to hit it!”

By the end of practice, Kentarou is jumping right on time, and the ball is sailing directly to his palm as he slams it down. It’s a good feeling, even if the chatter is still going on around them, even if Oikawa is smiling like he won a fucking award, even if it’s _Yahaba_ he’s turning to and muttering a small, yet excited, “All right!”

Oikawa walks up to congratulate them, but the minute he opens his mouth, its like a spell is broken. Kentarou scowls, Yahaba huffs, and the both of them turn away like they didn’t just have perfect teamwork moments before. Oikawa scolds them for being so childish, and the captain himself gets a few laughs and jeers about how ironic the statement is.

The sudden noise makes Kentarou’s head spin now that he’s broken out of the trance he was in while practicing. There’s something that builds in the back of his throat that feels a lot like irritation, and it makes him completely turn away and stalk out of the gym.

His head twinges with slight pain and his heart pounds unnaturally hard in his ribcage as he changes out of his sweaty practice uniform, but he can’t blame it. He spent all that time tuning out the others, spent it getting along with _Yahaba_ for a change, spent it getting absorbed into the sport. He can’t say he regrets ever coming back to the team, though, not after this. Practicing felt _good_ , like he didn’t set himself on auto-pilot, like he stayed on top of it, or took on a challenge, or tried to _learn_.

It’s the best thing he’s done in a while.

When he gets home, he already has a message from ya-setter-boi. He’s obviously in a good mood, talking about his own volleyball practice and how productive it was. He rambles on about how he didn’t think he would get a lot done because “ _usually i just wanna punch him in the face or slit his throat but setting to him was kind of fun??_ ”

Kentarou hates pretending like the comment doesn’t make his stomach twist in knots. He grits his teeth, and types out something like “ _im glad you had fun_ ” before he shoves his phone under his pillow.

After a slap-dash dinner without his dad, who has to work late, a couple hours’ worth of trashy television, and a shower long enough to seriously worsen water shortages around the world, Kentarou plops into bed with a long, suffering sigh. He checks the time, noticing how late it was along with the string of messages ya-setter-boi left him. They were all just a continuation of the rant earlier, along with two concerned messages. The final one was just a half-hour ago, telling him that he better be asleep and that he would message in the morning.

Kentarou hates the ache in his chest, even though it had no right to be there at all. He types back a short goodnight and shoves his phone back under his pillow.

He feels stupid, because it’s good that his friend enjoyed himself. There was nothing wrong with that. He’s happy that he actually had a good day and that he wasn’t freaking out. But the way he went on about it, the way he was so happy to be with someone else… makes his blood boil. He kinda wants to go up to that guy and punch him in the face.

What the hell is wrong with him? Kentarou knows he can’t monopolize his friend, and he knows that he’s being completely illogical. If he’s happy, well, Kentarou would just have to be happy right next to him.

He rolls over on his side, hears the front door open and his dad taking off his shoes, and goes to sleep before he can feel the ache in his heart get any worse.

* * *

Suddenly, every time they talk, it’s about volleyball or the guy ya-setter boi is practicing with. They talk strategy or practice methods (both of which are eerily similar, with only a few differences in between), as well as game logic and tournaments coming up. Kentarou can tell that he’s happy, content, and it almost makes him relieved. But the way he talks about that guy constantly makes him want to break his phone.

He said that they would play together someday. Maybe this guy changed his mind.

Kentarou doesn’t want to lose someone as important as him. He feels so stupid for even _thinking_ about being possessive of someone he only knows through a screen. He’s sure he has other friends, that he has other things to do other than talking to him, but Kentarou… he has nothing. He has volleyball and his phone. He feels stupid for thinking that was all he needed to keep himself here, especially now that it feels like there’s a hole where his heart should be every time ya-setter-boi talks about that guy.

He knows he shouldn’t feel like this, so he makes himself scarce. He doesn’t answer as much as he used to in school, and he puts all his effort into practicing and studying. He uses them as excuses not to talk, going on runs so long that his sides burn with exertion or spending almost all his time with his head buried in a text book.

It’s a shame that he’s being forced to keep practicing with Yahaba, because all he wants to do is perfect his serves so that he could take off someone’s head with them (preferably that guy’s if he ever runs into him). But even then, Yahaba’s been distracted. He checks his phone constantly, right before leaving for practice and right when they come back into the club room to change. He checks it obsessively, looking down at the screen like it would open up and sing for him if he stared hard enough. Other people on the team have noticed it too, because Watari asks him about it before they head to the gym.

“Ah, one of my friends hasn’t really been himself,” he answers, checking one last time before shoving it in his bag and shutting his locker. “I’m just a little bit worried, because you can’t really know what’s going on with them when you talk online, you know?” he adds, with a tiny awkward chuckle at the end.

Kentarou tries to make it look like he’s not listening as he puts on his shoes, but in reality, he’s shocked. He never really thought Yahaba to be one with online friends, but that shows him how much he really knows about the setter. The little tidbit makes him feel a little bit less like a recluse and a little more… _normal_.

“Hey, Kyoutani,” Yahaba barks, making him look up from his shoelaces. “Oikawa’s making me set to you again, so hurry up.”

“Yeah, I figured that, Creampuff,” Kentarou says, using Oikawa’s affectionate nickname as an insult. He finishes tying his shoe and heads towards the door, where Yahaba is standing. “Stop fucking _nagging_ me.”

“Wow, gee, sorry for looking out for you,” Yahaba says, the anger in his tone sharp enough to cut through diamonds. “Won’t happen again, I _promise_.”

“Look out for yourself,” Kentarou growls, shouldering past him as he stalks out the door and heads to practice.

Everything really goes to shit after that. Every toss Yahaba sends him is way off, and Kentarou is too out of it to even try to hit it. There’s more fighting done that practicing, and after a few choice words, Watari ends up separating them. Yahaba ends up following the libero and goes with him to practice receives, while Kentarou is left alone.

He hates this, how someone miles and miles away can screw him up so badly. His blood boils with anger that’s more aimed at himself than anybody else. He tries to branch off on his own to serve, but every ball goes out of bounds, or is hit with his fingers, not with his palms. Every mistake is another punch to the gut, like he can’t breathe, like he’s being choked by his own stupidity and inability to handle himself.

He ends up leaving in a huff, every sound grating on his ears and making his head feel like it wants to explode. Kentarou doesn’t even change, he just grabs his things and goes home.

His phone blows up about an hour later, around the time ya-setter-boi usually gets out of practice. It’s a slew of messages that don’t mean a thing, that have the same tone as someone talking to avoid a topic. Kentarou is drowned by an overwhelming wave of concern and a need to comfort. He messages back immediately.

ya-setter-boi’s insecurity has come back, Kentarou learns, even though he knows things like that never leave, and it’s apparently comes back with a vengeance. He goes on and on about how he’ll never be good enough, how he’s nothing, that if he keeps going like this then he’ll never be able to be anything like what’s expected of him. The messages are messy, typed carelessly, and devoid of any punctuation.

Kentarou tries to calm him down, he does, but it doesn’t seem it work. He tells him that he’s not nothing, that he’ll be okay, and that no matter what happens, he doesn’t have to do a thing if he doesn’t want to. Kentarou tries to tell him to breathe, to calm down, and that everything will be okay in the end, but he’s not listening.

Instead he shoots a single message in reply to his ranting paragraph meant to calm him down, and it’s one that asks him if he has a Skype.

Well, of course he has Skpye, but it’s not like he uses it all the time. Why would he? ya-setter-boi asks him for his username at his answer, and Kentarou blinks at the sudden change of topic. When he asks why he needs it, he’s almost defensive about the whole thing, only saying that he needed to know he was okay.

Kentarou doesn’t think it makes any sense, not at all, but he still carefully relays his Skype username. Seconds later, he has a request to be added by ya-setter-boi (thankfully, he uses the same username, otherwise Kentarou would have rejected it). After he accepts, there’s only about a span of thirty seconds until the cheery trill of that Skype ringtone starts filling his ears.

Kentarou’s heart nearly falls right through the floor. He thinks as he stares at the “Accept” or “Decline” buttons, wondering if he should answer or let it ring until it stops.

Does he want to do this? It would only make things worse, right? He already cares too much, already hates himself for caring too much, and this would only open so many other doors.

He can’t breathe right, his throat is dry, he can feel his pulse hammering in his ears.

He presses “Accept.”

The window fills his phone screen, buffering for a second before the feed on the other end finally loads. The picture is blurry, shaking, like whoever is holding the phone is shivering or something. And then the camera readjusts, and a face comes into view.

The boy as ashen-brown hair, with kind brown eyes, and his lips are quirked up in a fleeting smile. Kentarou thinks that he’s pretty…. Until he realizes that he’s seen his face before.

The boy’s smile crashes onto the floor as recognition sets in.

Kentarou barely hears Yahaba screech, “K-KYOUTANI?!” until he ends the call, throws his phone on his bed, and leaves.

Yahaba is ya-setter-boi. ya-setter-boi is Yahaba. Kentarou thinks back to everything, anything at all, and he feels like an idiot.

The guy he always ranted about? _That was him_. He was jealous _of himself_. Kentarou paces around the living room as he thinks, staying away from his room and killing his need to get his hands on his phone. At the beginning of today’s practice, Yahaba was worried because of _him_ , because he hasn’t been answering as much, because Kentarou was trying to distance himself from what he didn’t want to be feeling _for him_.

Wait, if Yahaba was worried about him, did that mean he cared just as much as he did?

He couldn’t think about this. He couldn’t get his hopes up.

He let out a frustrated groan, something that sounded like he was trying to scare off an annoying cat, before tipping over and landing face-first on the couch. He stays there, thinking, overthinking, screaming into the cushions, hating himself, hating Yahaba and wishing he knew what to do, until his dad comes home.

Dinner is a quiet affair, his dad being successful at dragging him away from the couch by making Kentarou’s favorite food. He pokes at it begrudgingly, his stomach doing too many flip-flops to make him want to eat.

His dad is having none of it, though, as he sets down his chopsticks, stares at him with that serious-yet-caring look, and demands to know what’s wrong with just two words: “Talk. Now.”

So Kentarou spills. He talks about everything, about how ya-setter-boi and him started talking, about how his feelings turned out to be a little too much to just be friends, about how he tried to make himself stop, about how Yahaba was a pain and how he was acting, and about how this whole thing boiled down. It felt like that was the most he talked in all of his life, and his dad just listened like he trained all his life for this moment.

His dad doesn’t lecture him about having friends on the internet. He doesn’t care that he basically came out to him. Instead he looks at him and says something like, “you seem to care a lot, so just talk about it.”

Kentaoru doesn’t have the energy to argue or tell him how impossible that is. Instead, he nods, and eats. With all that off his chest, he feels ravenous. His dad just laughs at him and messes up his short hair after the both of them are done eating. Kentarou’s glad that he at least has his dad.

He doesn’t check his phone, no matter how much he wants to. He pushes it under his pillow before falling asleep.

* * *

Kentarou decides to skip morning practice when he wakes up. He doesn’t feel ready to face this, to face _Yahaba_ , after everything. He felt like dying. Why didn’t he see it before? Why didn’t he ask for his name? Why didn’t he notice it sooner? He pushes the questions out of his mind and tears his eyes away from the ground he’s walking on before he hurts himself-

And that’s when he sees Yahaba leaning against the school’s gate.

Kentarou freezes, not knowing what to do. He feels like running, until Yahaba pushes himself to his feet.

“We need to talk,” he says, unreasonably calm. Kentarou takes an unconscious step back.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he mutters, just loud enough for the other to hear him.

“Yes, there is,” Yahaba argues, taking a step forward.

“Fine, then fucking _talk_ ,” Kentarou says. He’s willing to let the world swallow him whole if that’s what it takes to get him away from Yahaba. He doesn’t want to talk about this, he doesn’t want to face the fact that he indirectly has a crush on him. He doesn’t want to even think about taking the ‘ _indirectly_ ’ out of that statement.

“Uh,” Yahaba says, before rubbing at the back of his neck and looking anywhere but at Kentarou. “So, you have a Tumblr.”

“Fucking obviously.”

“You know, you’re a lot nicer on a screen,” Yahaba retorts, setting his hands on his hips and giving him a sour glare.

“That’s because I didn’t know who I was talking to,” Kentarou shoots back, hating how the words stick in his throat. He ignores Yahaba’s snort of indignation and pushes past him instead.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he demands, and Kentarou rolls his eyes.

“To class. Who are you, my _mom_?” he says, even though Yahaba knows his mom hasn’t been around since he was a kid.

“Like you care about going to class!” Yahaba shouts, even though Kentarou knows that he certainly does.

“I care when it’ll get you to stop talking to me.”

“Fine, but we’re talking at lunch and you’re _not_ getting out of it,” Yahaba says, turning away and heading to his own class.

Kentarou thinks about turning around and running home, but he ends up going to class anyways. His head hurts, his heart hurts; he wants nothing more than to disappear or stop existing or go home. He spends class with his head buried in his arms, his eyes scrunched up and his hands fists, dreading every minute that ticks by.

Yahaba’s already outside his classroom by the time the bell rings for lunch. The chatter is unbearable, and just the thought of facing this here makes his stomach unsettled. So, he walks up to the roof like he doesn’t see Yahaba waiting for him, and the other follows just like he meant him to. It’s only when the door closes behind the both of them that Kentarou turns around and levels him a look.

“So, what?” he asks, meaning to sound demanding, but instead he just sounds… defeated? Like he wants to get this over with, not like he doesn’t, but it wasn’t like he didn’t want to be here at all.

“So, we know a lot more about each other than we care to admit,” Yahaba says. Kentarou thinks about all the nights he’s stayed up messaging him, reveling in the comfort of having someone up with him, to talk to him. He pushes it away, because it was all a lie, it was _Yahaba_ , there was no way he cared all that much about him at all.

“Just forget it,” Kentarou says, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“What?” Yahaba asks, narrowing his eyes and stepping forward, almost like a challenge. “You can’t be-”

“None of it matters anymore,” he says, trying to stay calm, neutral, like this doesn’t affect him.

“Of course it matters! I thought we were _friends_! You can’t just-”

“But we’re not!  For a know-it-all, you don’t know shit!” Kentarou shouts. “We might’ve been friends through a fucking screen, but this is real life! We hate each other’s guts! You can pretend that all that shit was meaningful or whatever, but it doesn’t change anything!”

“It changes _everything_!” Yahaba shouts back, surging forward with something like liquid anger behind his eyes as he grabs at the front of Kentarou’s shirt. “I _cared_ about you! No matter who you were or what you looked like, I just wanted you to find someone that cared, someone that would watch out for you and comfort you when I couldn’t! When I _can’t_ …” he says, his voice breaking. His vice-like grip on his shirt slackens, short-lived, as he backs away. “Knowing who you are doesn’t change that.”

“Well, it _should_ ,” Kentarou says, his voice shaking in an attempt to actually avoid all of this. It was a _confession_ , it was _something_ , but he couldn’t, he can’t. This wasn’t a screen, it was reality, and he was scared. How many times did he want nothing more than to just be next to him, to lose himself in the warmth and light and everything he made him feel? How many times did he laugh at his phone, and yearn to hear his laughter on the other side? And now, it was right in front of him, right in reach, and he _can’t_ -

“What’s your problem?! I’m trying here!” Yahaba yells, snapping him out of his reverie. “I don’t care if that was you! I just want you to know that _I’m still here_ -”

“You should care it was me, because I _liked_ you!” Kentarou says. He feels like throwing up now that it was out in the open. He didn’t dare look at Yahaba, not now. He balls his fists and talks to his feet. “I _liked_ you. I was so jealous of that- _of me_ , because he- _I_ was all you ever fucking talked about. I wanted to be happy for you, but I just… I couldn’t. And I hated it because I shouldn’t’ve felt like that so I took a step back and then everything just fell from there and-”

“You’re such an idiot,” Yahaba says, his voice soft, and Kentarou flinches. “I just told you I cared, I… I like you too.” He sees his shadow move closer, and he takes a reflexive step back.

“You can’t,” Kentarou says. “No one can. You know how messed up I am, you hate me, something as stupid as this shouldn’t change _anything_ -” His chin is tilted up, and he’s forced to look at Yahaba. His expression looks hard, like he’s a second from headbutting him and knocking him out cold, but he’s _so close_ and he’s only getting closer.

Kentarou hates himself for leaning into his touch, his warmth. It’s everything he wanted and more.

“Shut up,” Yahaba says a beat later, their foreheads touching and his breath puffing into his face.

Kentarou’s heart is beating so loud, he was sure Yahaba could hear it. There’s something sticking to the back of his throat, and maybe it was uncertainty, like this whole thing was too good to be true. But Yahaba was close, and his hand is sliding away from his chin to rest on his cheek, and he realizes that it’s too much.

He shifts, ducking sideways to tuck his face into the crook of Yahaba’s neck as his arms come up to encircle his torso. His face burns, like everywhere Yahaba touches sets it aflame, but he doesn’t move away. He _can’t_ move away. It feels perfect, especially after Yahaba leans into him and puts his arms around him, too.

There’s no chatter, no one else around, and nothing that makes his head ache, but he feels overwhelmed in the best way.

There’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

**Author's Note:**

> (They end up really getting together later, when the bell rings and Shigeru tries to get Kentarou off. It ends up in a little fight, where the both of them agree that they can do this later. And there is a later.)
> 
> Okay, so i hoped you liked it! I know the style is a little weird, I only realized i was mimicking something else i was writing until halfway through. But! Can't be helped.  
> Please leave a comment and tell me what you think! Thank you so much!  
> Smile just a little bit brighter today, and know that it'll be better soon. Love ya!  
> -HB


End file.
